My Fault
by messed up stargazer
Summary: Just a quick case that just doesn't seem right.  Hopefully, it's better than the summary.  Some whumpage and some Peter and Neal father/son protective love.  Rated T just in case.


I was scared. Scared out of my mind. He was just there, lying there unmoving, and there was nothing I could do to stop the red blossoms coming from my partner's chest. I did exactly what Peter would have done, called 911 and Jones, called El, and I waited for the paramedics. The red blossoms of blood would not stop under my hands and I wished for it to finally stop. I didn't notice my own wounds dripping into his. _My fault._ I thought as the paramedics finally arrived. I heard the paramedics shout for the paddles and saw one go for CPR. _This was my fault._ I thought again before my world turned gray then swirled to black.

Yesterday, 8:00 a.m., FBI White Collar HQ

Well, it was started out as another day and another case. I was at my desk, sleepily going over one of our cases. Except something was wrong with this particular one. An Irish woman had been dealing with the FBI, claiming to know how someone had just stolen about ten million dollars worth of art. Most people believed her, since she did have a lot of evidence. But if prison had taught me anything, don't always believe evidence. It could be wrong. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before; I was too focused on this case. I didn't believe the girl, who said her name was Fiona Weston. I was almost too 'focused' to notice Peter's face, grim and concerned, as he walked over tome, him just arriving.

"What's wrong, Peter?" I asked, although it was more of a yawn.

"Neal, how much sleep did you get last night?" He said. I thought long and hard.

"Maybe about three hours. I just couldn't. There's something wrong with this case. I know it somehow but I just can't figure it out. How did you guess?" I asked back.

"Three things. One, your Fedora is missing and it's Tuesday. I've never seen you without it on a Tuesday. Two, you're here early. I always meet you coming in and today I immediately saw you weren't here so I asked Rebecca about it. Our lovely receptionist says you've been in here since six. And three, you look like you fell under a truck. You have dark circles under your eyes that have dark circles under their eyes. I'm worried buddy." Peter explained. I smiled inwardly. I secretly loved it when he called me buddy; it made me feel like I had someone who cared about me. The only problem was he only called me that whenever he was worried about me. I shrugged, and said my broken record reply that I was fine and I just needed to focus on the case. He set his jaw, the way he always does when dealing with me.

"No, you are _not_ fine Caffery and you're gonna sleep on the couch in my office, right now. No ifs, ands or buts." Peter said, grabbing me under my arms.

"But Burke…" I protested, using his last name because I knew he hated it. (I hated it just as much when he called me Caffery.)

"What did I say, Neal? No. And besides, we can solve this case in about four hours after you get the sleep you need." Peter said, carefully setting me down. I noticed, and if I did Peter did an hour ago, that I was too tired to object. Peter just drained me, what can I say? I let my head drop onto the couch arm and closed my eyes, and Peter groaned but lifted my legs up to the couch. Then he did the total dad thing and grabbed the blanket he kept in his desk in case he needed to either cover someone if they went into shock or to tuck an ex-con like myself into his couch. I felt the blanket cover me but that wasn't what helped me finally into sleep. It was my best friend and partner slightly ruffling my hair, and I didn't mind (which was weird), hearing his slight chuckle and knowing I had plastered a sappy grin on his face. "Night, Neal." He said, closing his door and turning off the lights. Surrounded by darkness, I fell into a blissful sleep. One I would never admit had only been secured by a certain FBI agent, who I considered my best friend.

"Neal? It's time to wake up." A harshly kind voice shook me from the abyss of sleep.

"Diana?" I moaned, not really ready to get up. _Peter was right, I totally needed this._ I thought, hoping I could communicate this to Diana _without_ getting up.

"Yeah, it's me. It's time to get up though Neal. You've been asleep for a little over six hours. Peter waited as long as he could before waking you up but we need you in the conference room right now. We need your little bag of tricks, or as you call it, your expertise." Diana joked, shaking me harder.

I groaned audibly and snapped my eyes open to glare at her. She shrugged it off and I cursed myself. I wasted a perfectly good glare. Diana, the Ice Queen, was impervious to any glare, and she knew it. She became the glare master and we all suffered from it. I untangled myself from the blanket Peter had so lovingly wrapped around me and followed her to the conference room, after smoothing the slept-in look out of my clothes. I usually would've popped on my Fedora with style but I had forgotten it when I had picked my clothes out because my thoughts were with the case instead of my wardrobe. I was quite thankful that the clothes I had matched and I wasn't walking around looking like an eccentric billionaire. (For those who don't know, that is the _worst_ look in humankind.) I strutted over to the conference room and Diana was grinning like an idiot when I held the door open for her. She may be the Ice Queen but she was a sucker for a funny walk.

"Ah, Neal, welcome back to the land of the living. I believe you remember Fiona." Peter said, as she held her hand out again, begging me to shake it. I hadn't the first time but a glare from Peter got me to do it the second time. Her hand was steady and hot in a way. Like she had been handling machinery right before. I pulled my hand away first and she seemed unfazed.

"Sorry my hand is hot, I've been searching through my husband Michael's computer trying to see if I could find any more evidence. I copied it all on it, in case anything was lost or stolen or even changed. I just wanted to make sure I could nail this guy." She said, her heavy Irish accent making it a little hard to understand.

"How do you to tie into this again?" I asked, and not only Peter detected my harsh tone. Peter's smile to the others was a grimace to me. My renewed brain thought about how we had our own secret language, which only Mozzie and El knew.

"My husband was in charge of guarding the artwork, and he was shot trying to stop this man. He is in a coma thanks to this bastard and I want him to pay for shooting Michael. I don't really care about the White Collar stuff I just want my husband to get retribution. I thought about doing this myself but I might be arrested and I decided to enlist the help of the FBI." She explained, getting everyone's attention and sympathy, except me. I heard and told many sob stories while I was a criminal and even more when I became an FBI consultant. I didn't believe some of them, this one wasn't any different. She flashed me a charming smile and I thought of looking in the mirror. She mirrored _my_ smile, well, I can't say that but she knew how to lay on the charm. I guess I couldn't call it mine per say, but I still felt mad and not in a trusting mood.

"You'll have to excuse him, Mrs. Weston. He's just trying so hard to solve your and your husbands case he hasn't gotten much sleep." Peter said, pulling out a chair for her to sit in.

"If you don't behave I'll make you sleep the hard way. I know you don't trust her but she's the best lead we got right now, so shut up." Peter whispered in my ear, so only I could hear him. I blanched slightly at the threat, knowing he could carry it out full well, but rebuilt my composure instantly.

"Oh, thank you. It's good to know such good people are helping my husband's case." She said, bringing her hand up to her face to stop the tears forming at the edge of her eyes. Both Jones and Diana offered tissues, both very much under her spell.

"Well, Mrs. Weston I'm very glad you chose justice over revenge. It was a very useful decision in arresting your husband's shooter." Peter said as she wiped her eyes clear of the tears that supposedly were just at the gates of her eyes. She nodded and glanced at the clock.

"I need to go. I have to visit Michael in the hospital. Hopefully, he'll wake up in the next few days." Fiona said, gathering up her stuff to leave.

"What a poor woman. Having to deal with all this." Jones voiced and I snorted.

"I'll bet. That poor woman. Just a mess, right. Well, I don't believe her. Something's off with her and her story." I said checking to make sure she was out of earshot.

"_What is up_ with you Caffery? Something's been eating you all day. Or at least all hour." Jones asked and Diana nodded.

"Yeah, did you sleep wrong or something?" Diana asked. I shook my head and grabbed the file in front of me to avoid their gazes, one was anger and the other was skepticism. (Guess who was wearing each one.) I focused on the file and it dawned on me.

"Wait, didn't she say her husband was in a coma?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the file.

"Yeah, we confirmed that." Peter said.

"Then how does she know about all this? If her husband is in a coma then how does she know that it wasn't just some mugging gone wrong?" I asked.

"She shouldn't unless…" Peter started and I finished.

"She was in on it. I'll bet Evan's _just_ the fall guy. _That's_ why she's trying so hard to get us to believe her. She's just another piece of the game." I said, getting up. Peter called down to the receptionist and told her to have Mrs. Weston meet us in the parking lot for a last minute question. Peter and I raced down to meet her there and we were greeted by gunfire.

"Hmm. You were right. She is apart of this." Peter said.

"Aren't I always right? When it comes to this." I added quickly. Even in a firefight Peter could still throw me a glare. I crouched under Hughes car and covered my neck. I glanced up just to see Peter take a shot to the chest when he tried firing from his side. I screamed his name and raced to his side, my adrenaline pumping so much I didn't notice the two bullets rip through my own side and chest.

"Neal… you're hurt." Peter tried but his eyes fluttered shut and he didn't stir when I shook him. I whipped out Peter's cell.

I was scared. Scared out of my mind. He was just there, lying there unmoving, and there was nothing I could do to stop the red blossoms coming from my partner's chest. I did exactly what Peter would have done, called 911 and Jones, called El, and I waited for the paramedics. The red blossoms of blood would not stop under my hands and I wished for it to finally stop. I didn't notice my own wound dripping into his. _My fault._ I thought as my heart hammered and the paramedics finally arrived. I heard the paramedics shout for the paddles and saw one go for CPR. _This was my fault._ I thought again before my world turned gray then swirled to black.

"Neal? Neal buddy you with me?" I heard Peter say. I couldn't be sure. I was somewhere I didn't know, but had a lot of noise. There was some steady beeping and I could barely make out El whispering something.

"Is this somewhere… boring?" I asked my mouth feeling like it was full of cotton and my voice hoarse from under use.

"Yeah, buddy. We're in the hospital. We got shot. Well I got shot, you got shot_s_." Peter said, putting unneeded emphasis on the second s. "

That's why I feel so floaty. What happened?" I asked. What happened after the gunfire was blurry and smudged.

"Well you were right, Neal. Mrs. Weston was totally in on the scam. She called her goons in and they had guns. Jones went after her and caught her. She spilled everything for immunity. The strange part? She got it for both her and her husband. And we thought he was an innocent pawn who tried to do the right thing. Neal, you still with me?" Peter asked his voice filled with fear and worry.

"Yeah. I don't wanna be though. I'm really tired." I said, my voice still cracking.

"Wait a little bit, buddy. El went to go get the doc, all right? We gotta make sure you're still awake when she comes." Peter said.

"Mm-Kay." I mumbled. After five straight minutes of talking with a Dr. Madeline Weston, she said I could sleep. As I faded, I felt ultimate and absolute pain in my arm. I screamed and there was panic which I gladly let myself be surrounded by darkness.

"Neal? Neal Caffery?" A young man's voice asked.

"I think that's me. I don't know." I said. My head so high I didn't know if it could ever come down.

"Good. How did you find us?" The voice asked again, his Irish accent very clear now.

"Find who and why are you so loud?" I asked. I had no idea who those guys were, but they were interrupting my sleep so I was slightly mad.

"He still hasn't come down from the high the poison Maddy gave him. He's useless right now. Let him sleep it off, and then you can really interrogate him. That's best." Another man said. I decided I liked him. He agreed with my total need to sleep right now.

_Ask about Peter. Ask it now._ A voice in my head told me to do. "Where's Peter?" I asked.

"Who's Peter?" The one I liked asked.

"I think he's the other guy who was with him. We should have nabbed him with Caffery. Oh well. We got Caffery that should be enough." The Irish one said. I wanted him to shut up so I could sleep.

"Yeah. That'll be enough." The one I liked said, or something close. I was asleep before he finished his sentence.

I woke to a punch to the face. I snapped my eyes open and gasped. I was in an abandoned building, tied to a chair and I my stomach dropped to hell because of who was sitting unconscious next to me. I thought they were gonna leave him alone. I thought frantically. Why him? He had a woman to come home to. Why couldn't they leave him out of it? Why did they have to capture my best friend?

"Peter! Wake up and flash the badge now!" I yelled, hoping to snap him out of it.

"Badge? He's a suit?" The Irish one said.

"Yes! He's FBI! Let us go!" I shrieked.

"If we let you go will you stop hunting us?" The one I had liked when I was drugged asked.

"Who are you and probably." I shouted. I was scared. Again. I hated that feeling. I hated it more than being caught. I hated it more than being caught _twice_.

"We are just a couple of guys trying to make a living. Maybe in a way that is not exactly legal but you get the point. We take you back to the hospital and you just forget us. Comprende?" The non Irish one said.

"Fine. Just go away and wake him up. Your precious girl shot us." I said, hands shaking in the ropes. I had noticed before but the pain in my side and chest were building and it was excruciating.

"Fine. But stop hunting us. Oh, damnit! He's goes pass out!" The Irish one said. He was right. My eyes rolled back and I was dead to the world.

"Damn how could we lose them for about eight hours?" A voice I knew said.

"Jones?" I asked.

"Hey! Hey doc look who's up!" Jones called out.

"Ow Jones. Don't be so loud in front of him. You'll break his ears. I think he's broken enough." Peter scolded jokingly. I pried my eyes open and saw the only people I cared about. El was next to Peter's bed, a big smile plastered across her face. Jones and Diana were waiting in between mine and Peter's beds. Mozzie, staying away from the others, was right by my side.

"Wow. Looks like everyone came down to see us. Guess we're lucky." I said before I could stop myself.

"I think his brain is wired directly to his mouth. That would never come out of his mouth voluntarily. Sure you didn't do anything to him doc?" Peter joked and everyone laughed, even Mozzie. I smiled. Here I was, in a place I truly hated to be in since it meant that violence had been used, and I was happy. Happy to be with friends who cared about me. How could life get better?

**I do not own this! Although I wish I did. Yes, Michael Weston is a name from Burn Notice as is Fiona for those who noticed. Review!**


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